


Of Treasure

by Vidicon666



Series: Vows and Consequences [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2517494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vidicon666/pseuds/Vidicon666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three Cousins have entirely different views of what has value in life, what is treasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Silmarillion or any other works by J.R.R Tolkien. These stories are fanfiction and I derive no economic profit therefrom. They are based upon the books, not the movies.

Of treasure

They were tall men and imposing, normally clad in the mail of warriors and carrying blades. The taller one had a great mane of glorious coppery auburn hair and their horses were among the finest in Beleriand. Due to the wishes of the king they were about to visit they were dressed in the simple clothes of forest elves, their mighty swords enclosed in simple leather sheaths and only by the fine working on their swords’ hilts that they might be supposed to be anything but simple hunters, and they were on foot. The taller, read-headed one spoke as it started to rain heavily.

“Makalaurë, I am ever more convinced that our Cousin has chosen to keep his home a secret so he can see us walking in wet and muddy.” 

The shorter one smiled under his hood. “I think some other considerations may have had something to do with it. And we could have sent a messenger.”  
The taller one smiled back. “Aye, but then we would not be able to speak with him, and I have missed our conversations.”

“Indeed. And that is why we are currently slogging through the rain to his doors. At least we are almost there, Russandol.”

The auburn haired elf scowled. “I asked you not to call me that.”

Makalaurë grinned at his brother. “No Maïtimo, you asked me not to call you that in public. Something to do with the crowds of elven maids who gather round to gain your favours?”

Maïtimo glared at him, drew his hood further over his hair and strode deeper into the forest, his brother following chuckling softly.

The Hidden gates of Nargothrond opened before the gates and Gildor, the Captain of the Gates welcomed them. “Lord Maedhros, lord Maglor. Welcome. His majesty is in his treasury. I will take you there directly or I can show you to the chambers prepared for you?” A twinkle was in his eye as he spoke.”

The brothers exchanged looks and Maedhros spoke for both of them. “We would be interested to see the treasury of our cousin. If you do not think he would mind?”

Gildo smiled. “His majesty is ever fond of showing of his treasures, I assure you my lords. Please, follow me.”

The brothers followed, the Captain leading them deep into Nargothrond, then up and finally into a dell that lay surrounded by the caverns. Trees were there, and many flowering plants. Children of all ages and both sexes were playing games, running around and laughing. A small girl, dressed in a simple smock was wearing a necklace a shocked Maedhros recognized as Nauglamir, a young boy that Maglor recognized as Finrod’s grand-nephew Gil-Galad was wearing the crown of Nargothrond lopsided on his pale golden curls, running laughing after a young ellyn while holding on to it.

Finrod was sitting cross legged, with a small girl hanging around his neck, telling stories to a group of children that surrounded him.

The brothers walked up to him and bowed and Faenor bowed back from his seated position. “Cousins! Welcome! Makalaurë, there is a harp in the corner, I am sure the children would love to hear you play. Children, these are my cousins, lords Maedhros and Maglor. Greet them politely and then I will continue.”

The children got up and bowed respectfully, small groups of them gathering before the two, Gil-Galad and the young Ellyn with Nauglamir being the last to do so, before placing the jewels on the ground and starting a tussle. Finrod laughed, and continued his story. Maglor felt his hand taken by a small Ellyn, her front teeth having fallen out. “Can you play me the song about Kingfishers?”

Finrod, in the middle of his story, cleared his throat and looked at the Ellyn significantly, his eyebrow raised and a twinkle in his eyes. The little girl blushed and said added quickly. “Please lord Maglor?”

Maglor chuckled and walked up to the cave where Finrod had indicated a harp stood, inspecting it. As he had expected it carried the personal maker’s mark of his cousin. Sitting down himself he started playing a song called The Kingfisher in the Falls and a group of children gathered round him to listen, a group that grew with every line, every stanza sung. 

Finrod was abandoned by his adoring audience and joined the circle with two of the smallest children. Maedhros, after a quick look, lifted another small child on his shoulders, careful not to pinch her with his false hand, and settled her there so she could see his brother play. Maglor finished the song and Finrod cleared his throat. “Thank you Makalaurë. Children, thank Lord Maglor, then it is time for your lessons.” The children rose and bowed, murmuring their thanks, then filed out, giggling and pushing. The little girl who had asked for the song looked back, ran out of the line and hugged the still sitting Maglor, kissing his cheek, whispered “Thank you”, and ran off to join her friends. Finrod looked after her fondly, Maglor with a look of surprise. 

Maedhros walked to the crown and the necklace, blowing of the grass and the flowers and handed them to Finrod, who accepted them gravely and fastened Nauglamir around his neck and the crown, only slightly less askew than his nephew had worn it, on his long blonde curls. He winked. “Now then cousins, I assume you are not just here to enjoy a fine walk through the woods? Shall we repair to my study and discuss the matter?”

Maedhros nodded. “I must admit cousin, I am slightly surprised to see that you let your crown and a fine object of art such as Nauglamir be played with by children.”

Finrod shrugged, righting his crown before he entered the palace proper. “Maïtimo, that is the whole point. They are just that: objects. Neither of them, to me is worth the smile of a child, the joy and laughter of children at play, the song and dance of my happy people.” He smiled at his cousins sadly. “And no matter how important the Silmarils are to you, I think you will find someday that the price of them is too high and that they are not worth a single crying child.” 

Makalaurë looked at his cousin sideways. “Then why are you here, if not for the Silmarils?” 

The blonde elf gestured around him. “Friendship, honour, duty to my people, love for my cousins. Certainly not for three stones, no matter how beautiful. Vengeance? Vengeance is empty. Justice, maybe. If I had known the Edain were here before I left Valinor, to help them I might have come. But not for three stones.”

The brothers shared a somewhat shocked look. They knew their cousin held different ideas, but this showed an indifference to their cause they found worrying. 

“What about oaths?”

Ingoldo shrugged. “Normal oaths? Yes. Yours? No. Not all oaths can be fulfilled. Some should not be. Sometimes the cost is too great, the price to high. I know you disagree. But what of this oath of yours? When will you give up on the Silmarils? When all of us are dead? Even the children? What will you do if another, deserving being finds them? What is the Lady Elbereth receives them and can revive the Trees? Will you walk up to her and demand them back, despite what good they might bring to our people?”

Maïtimo glowered at him. “The Silmarils are ours! Our father made them! Nobody else has a claim on them!”

Ingoldo looked at him. “What about all those who bled and died for them so far? What about the blood of the Teleri on the wooden decks of their ships? What about my brothers? Have they no claim to own part of them? Have they no right to see and touch them when they wish? Who will release you from your oath when the price becomes too high?”

Maïtimo’s glower intensified. “No price is too high! Father created the Silmarils from the fire of his soul and the light of the trees. We will never surrender them!”

Ingoldo smiled, sadly. “I know, cousin. And my people wish them to be taken from the Dark Lord. But that does not mean there are no things I treasure more, love more deeply, than those stones of blood.” 

“So…will you still aid us, Ingoldo?” Makalaurë asked diffidently.

“Yes, my people still wish for the return of the Silmarils. For many of them, at this time, those three gems are still of greater value than the smile of a child. I fear what will bring about the change in them, but I do not think I can prevent it.” 

“Splendid! Then let us speak of war and battle!”

Neither of the brothers saw the deep sadness in the eyes of the King of Nargothrond as the songs and play of children became secondary to the songs of battle and the play of swords.


End file.
